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“Not stupid. I think your dad did, too. Lock him down quickly, son.”
“Working on it.”
She nods. “Don’t take too long.”
I’m all light and shit, heading back to my car. Alderchuck’s laughing at something.
“Sorry to ruin your Christmas, but Ma’s not mad at me.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah that. Nah, I’ve moved on to this. Look what your sister sent me.”
My sister?
It’s a picture of me in my Moose Scout leader uniform.
“I figured out why you’re good with kids—you’re a camp counselor!” He cackles.
“Delete that right now.”
“Delete it? Fuck no. I’ll be using this on a lonely night. Somehow you manage to be hot as fuck even when you look so dorky. Still funny as fuck.”
I start up the car. “How did you get my sister’s number?”
“I didn’t. She asked for mine. Said she had something to show me. If that’s not cool, I’ll delete her.”
I kinda like how quickly they’ve become friends. If I did have a boyfriend, he’d need to get along with my family and protect my sister like I do.
“It’s too late now. She’ll know I was behind it and you don’t want to be on the wrong side of Giancola wrath.” I pull out of the driveway, he reaches across the console for my hand. “By the way, you just got a look into your future, Alderchuck.”
“What?”
“If this thing between us is still happenin’ during off-season, guess what you’re doing? Hell, maybe I’ll go right ahead and let Dad know now that you’ll be joining us for moose scouts.”
“Fuck that, Sutter.”
“I love that you think you have a choice.” My eyes flick to the mirror so I can watch it sink in. He knows I can make him.
“Oh, c’mon. Please don’t make me.”
“I’m texting Dad your uniform sizes tonight.”
“You’re an asshole, Sutter.”
“And yet, you’re still here.”
Pushing into Alderchuck after the game is sweet relief to my aching bones. Playing Vancouver’s always a bloodbath whether Alderchuck and I have anything going on or not. I don’t know how Milton doesn’t see that. I think Gina does, but now that she’s seen just how much a Sutterchuck relationship has boosted merch sales, she’s just as much Team Sutterchuck. More people are walking around in Sutter and Alderchuck jerseys over any other player on our teams.
“That’s it, spread for me, kitten. Tell, Daddy who you belong to.”
“Fuck you, Sutter.”
I chuckle into his ear. I’ve got him bent over my kitchen counter, which is usually where we start. We have a pattern. First, we stumble in the door starved for each other, needing to take long sips, mauling, pawing, and manhandling until we’re naked enough to seek relief. Once round one is over, we lose the rest of our clothes, leaving them in heaps somewhere, and I feed Alderchuck so we can have a round two without his stomach distracting him. From there, we get our fill, knowing it’ll be weeks, sometimes a month before we can touch each other again.
Letting him go this time’s gonna be harder than all the other times.
“At least tell me you’re mine, baby.”
“Yeah, I’m fucking yours, asshole.”
